Servility
by Pyroluminescence
Summary: “I’m telling you, Roy! You’ve got to find yourself a wife!” HughesxRoy, shounen-ai, fluff, WAFF


"I'm telling you, Roy! You've got to find yourself a wife!"

The comical, almost sing-song tone of Maes's cheerful speech was an odd kind of comfort to him. Few lit up a room with a smile and a gaze of pure gold as easily and completely as did Maes. His optimism was like a beacon of light to those around him, something they looked forward to – craved, even – in the face of long hours spent in a line of work they all too often thought should be reserved for the damned.

At the same time, it was infuriating. Breakthroughs lingered just out of reach, and just before the answers came, he'd be faced with Elysia's smile and the answers wiped away by his best friend's rambling.

"And I keep telling you, Maes, I'm never going to just show up for work in the morning with a ring on my finger," the colonel grumbled as he hastily crammed a loosely-bound set of papers into a too-small envelope.

But no matter what the cost, how goddamn annoying the other man was, or how inconvenient the timing, it was always worth it.

Hughes shrugged in response and gave his comrade a well-mannered clap on the shoulder. "You're way too uptight; that's the problem. You've got books full of numbers you never call. It's time to start looking. Take a girl past a third date now and then. Open up. Settle down."

Roy had his theories about his best friend. For one, he was positive Maes had this speech written down somewhere, memorized, and regularly practiced it to his audience of mirrors and unlucky subordinates. 

Second, though he didn't have his best friend's investigative talents, nor did he have the mind of a detective, he was sure that the lieutenant colonel's reasoning for it went beyond friendly concern. He wanted Roy to move on.

"Come on, Roy. In fact, I know this girl who's _just_ your type! She's pretty, smart, a little on the stubborn side… But she's just dying to meet you! In fact, I should give you her number right now!"

There was no way to drop a subtle hint. "Unless she's got the thighs of a goddess, I'm not even remotely interested. Drop it."

Another shrug and a smile. "It's just what you need. If you don't start looking soon, you might have to settle for your subordinates, and let me tell you, dating within the military is way too awkward. The only one as desperate as you is Havoc, and something tells me he wouldn't make a nice wife…"

Roy almost preferred talking to Hughes over the phone. Almost. It lacked the presence Maes's sweet, yet musty scent, or the warmth of citrine eyes – the only things he could ever be sure of.

On the other hand, the nice thing about phones was that he would have had been given the option to slam it into the receiver without another word from Maes. Honestly. _Havoc._

"I'm hardly desperate, and I'd date the Fullmetal and Breda at once before I _touched_ Havoc, Maes."

"Then date Ed and Breda. Date anyone as long as you stop being such a wet blanket around HQ." A final, meaningful smirk, and the lieutenant colonel turned to busy himself with another stack of papers.

Nothing brought military comrades closer together than a paper-heavy day at Eastern Command. Closer in the physical sense, at least, where they were often cramped together, with four different officers asking for information from four different divisions that he _never_ had handy. His subordinates always went in and out haphazardly, frustrated and confused as himself, and despite their brute mannerisms and demanding tone, they expected _patience_ from him. Yet patience never got him anywhere, and the most the colonel ever accomplished during one of these rat races of work days was the satisfaction of knowing he'd brought upon Eastern Command new breakthroughs in the world of paper airplane aerodynamics.

Worth it.

He'd almost given up once. It'd been a strenuous week, and, added to that, one where his omnipresent memories of war and anguish manifested themselves in his nightmares. By the end of it, he'd been shaking, lost, and unwilling even to listen to Hawkeye's pleas for him to come to grips. He thought he'd been defeated. In the face of a breakdown he expected nothing more than disappointment and scolding from his superiors and was offered just that. He could only hold on, unable to fight or reason when, even _years_ later, it'd seemed like a hopeless cause.

It had been Maes who'd gently reasoned with Hakuro, and Roy had awakened to meet that golden gaze, level with his, across a cluttered desktop. Maes, who'd paid the guards to keep quiet as he _carried_ in his arms him as gently as he did his little girl, getting him where he need to be – out of there - and handling him with a tenderness he thought he'd never see again. He recalled how easily he'd let himself become immune to all but the scent of the other man, and how reassuring every stroke of his hair and every gently whispered consolation were.

Maes had taken him home, lay with him, stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. He'd felt like a child – being so helpless, and in need of consolation. He didn't know how he felt he could lead an entire country when he had yet to get over himself. It was funny, how something so simple as the man's ghosting, gentle touches and soft kisses could make him forget anything but the moment. He realized then that it had been _Maes_ he necessitated above all else, when it was _him_ who made the nightmares stop, and _him_ who kept his world intact. Maes Hughes was his elixir, his _addiction_.

It went beyond the fact that he'd fallen irrevocably and completely in love with his comrade – he was no better than the scum of Central, sleeping in their own feculence, but content with the world as long as they were still able to numb themselves with the filth they put into their bodies.

He'd spent that night not taking a single moment in Maes's arms for granted; savoring every rise and fall of his chest. Maes had moved on long ago – on to things Roy could never have given him. He was selfish, delusional, and above all, pathetic for continuing to yearn for someone who'd found better.

And that night, with their shared warmth the only communication between them, none of that had mattered. Not even in the morning, when he woke up to Gracia's concerned tone, and Maes's hushed explanations. Gracia, so understanding…

But she'd spent every night in his arms, called him her own on days she _wasn't_ at rock bottom… Was one night so much to ask?

No, they'd all decided, it wasn't.

Breakdowns were a rarity these days. Subordinates and superiors alike looked up to the Flame Alchemist's tolerance for hardship. He owed every bit of it to his best friend, and, looking back at the preoccupied lieutenant colonel, he thought, not for the first time, that he was lucky to have a man who would go against anything – his responsibilities, schedule, or, most significant of all, marriage – to help him reach his goal. It went beyond luck. He was almost willing to believe in destiny.

No wonder he could never move on.

Feeling his gaze, Maes looked up, and a smile broke through the stern gaze of a soldier. He knew.

"You think about it more, mate. I'm telling you, there's no greater feeling in the world than the one that comes along with feeling so complete through finding the one just for you," Maes whispered enthusiastically, and, after quickly scouting the room for any onlookers, gave his best friend a quick peck on the lips before grabbing his folders together and hastily making his way out of the room to meet the demand of an oncoming deadline. Such were the ways of document-laden work days at HQ.

"Fool," Roy murmured, a faint smile making its way across his smug features, "I already know the feeling."


End file.
